A Man of the World
by DarkPoot
Summary: Cho'Gath attempts to teach his voidling protégé the finer points of etiquette. It does not go well.
1. Chapter 1

The soup course arrived, and Kog'Maw promptly forgot everything he'd been taught. Cho'Gath had been very careful to point out which spoon was the soup spoon, but that now seemed a bit advanced for his young ward: Kog'Maw had devoured the soup, its Demacian china bowl, part of the table, and all of his available spoons in one gulp.

Cho'Gath sighed. Dressed in a custom-fitted silk shirt with red bowtie and cummerbund, Kog'Maw chewed through the glass, his mouth wide open, soup and caustic saliva splattering everywhere. This, Cho saw, would indeed be a challenge.

"More!" Kog shouted. Cho only folded his arms and stared in disapproval. Since the command failed to produce another of the tasty glass things, Kog considered what his error may have been. He thought back to his lessons, and it came to him: "Please!"

"Well, I'm glad you're at least learning something," Cho said. He took a moment to wipe a bit of saliva off his monocle before taking up his own soup spoon. "I'm afraid that business with the soup just won't do, though. Now – what do you think you did wrong?"

The void spawn gurgled in confusion. He'd been given food. The thing you did with food was eat it. He'd eaten it. Where could there possibly be room for error? Was there something else he'd neglected to eat? He stared at his mentor expectantly, hoping that he'd understand whatever the explanation was or, failing that, that he'd get to eat more.

Cho'Gath sighed again. "Milo?" A well-dressed butler standing at the end of the table walked up to Cho's side.

"Sir?" Milo asked.

"The young master will be having another bowl of soup. And another place setting, I should think."

Milo glanced with distaste at the disaster across the table, wrought by the unspeakable manifestation of hunger that the master of the house had taken under his wing. It was not his place to judge, Milo decided, repairing swiftly to the kitchen and returning swiftly with a new bowl and spoon.

Cho'Gath held up a grizzly talon as the butler approached; Milo stopped next to Kog, aware of the danger in holding food so close to an insatiable void monster, but aware also that duty comes first. Kog eyed the soup and the equally-appealing server greedily as Cho'Gath proceeded with the lesson.

"Now then, I – I say, are you watching? – now, it's considered poor form to eat the bowl itself. Instead, one avails oneself of a spoon…" Cho paused to indicate the spoon held daintily in one of his nightmarish claws. He dipped the silverware in the subtle vegetable bisque in front of him. "…and while you'll find you eat much slower, you'll also be happy to find this leaves ample time for conversation and…"

Cho'Gath raised his attention from the bisque to find that Kog'Maw had devoured the soup, the bowl, the spoon, and Milo's arms. Milo, who came from an old and hardy line of butlers, took the loss in stride.

"Terribly sorry for the mess, sir," Milo said. Blood gushed from his mangled elbows at an alarming rate.

"Quite all right, Milo. Just send Winston in when you go clean yourself up," Cho'Gath assured. Milo bowed and took his leave, leaking blood all the while as he left.

The two void abominations sat in silence for a moment, staring each other down as Cho's soup cooled and flecks of spittle ate holes in the wall and tablecloth. A solid minute passed before Kog'Maw, having forgotten why they were quiet, offered his input:

"Tasty!"

"That's not the important thing!" Cho'Gath shouted. He bet Milo was pretty tasty, frankly, but damn it, one did not eat one's butlers! Cho'Gath had worked beastly hard to overcome the ragamuffin days of his youth in the lightless, godless Void, and he wanted to be for his young protégé the helping, correcting hand that he'd wished he'd had. Still, Kog'Maw showed little desire to learn; Cho'Gath wondered if he'd ever make a gentleman out of the youngster.

"You…you started eating before he'd even put your food on the table! You ate your soup right out of the bowl without a spoon, you ate the bowl itself again, you upset the table, you made a mess, you permanently maimed Milo, you…you…!"

Kog'Maw, who was getting rather excited at this description of all the things he'd eaten and how much fun he'd had, nodded and danced up on to the table.

"Please!" he chirped.

Cho'Gath lost his temper. He shot up out of his chair, and the table ripped in two as hellish spines and gnarled fangs erupted out of the floor. These carried Kog'Maw up to the ceiling with him, where he presently found himself impaled horribly.

"It's just…you're not making any effort," Cho said. "It would be such a shame to just devour you." Kog'Maw didn't know what disappointment was yet, but the situation wasn't totally lost on him. Maybe it was something in the tone of Cho's voice, or maybe it was the way Cho had attacked with horrible hellteeth from the earth, but Kog'Maw was pretty sure he'd upset his elder. This meant his elder might eat him. This, at least, Kog knew would be bad.

The fangs retreated into the ground, leaving a gaping hole in the carpet, floor, and builing foundation. Cho'Gath took a seat and Kog followed suit, though his wounds left him weak enough for the moment to have little choice. One set of servants came through to sweep up the table fragments while another carried a new table in; within minutes, they were ready for Winston to bring in the fish course. Winston, whose constitution was at least as strong as Milo's, did not even bat an eyelash at the bloodstains on the wall and carpet, nor at the circular maw that faced him now, dripping with the same gore. He held his chin up, placed the covered plates in front of the two diners, and lifted the metal covers to reveal the steaming shellfish underneath.

"Mussels, in the style of Bilgewater. Bon apetit," Winston announced. Kog'Maw eyed the new butler. The obvious thing to do was to vomit digestive acid all over him and slurp him on down, but Kog'Maw was beginning to suspect that Cho'Gath did not want him to do the obvious thing. Also – and this was as close as Kog would get to a breakthrough that night – he realized that these walking tasty bits, these "Milos" and "Winstons," brought other tasty bits like the crunchy glass things, and that perhaps this "Winston" would bring more tasty bits if he didn't vomit digestive acid on him.

"Please!" Kog'Maw said happily. Cho'Gath shrugged at Winston, aware that this was probably the best he'd get, and the butler bowed and left.

"Good lad! You didn't so much as nibble on him," Cho'Gath said. He meant it, too; he'd always guessed Winston was the most delicious member of his staff. He was on the plump side, with red hair that probably tasted no different but anyway looked more flavorful, and Cho had the overall the impression that he'd go well with an earthy Noxian shiraz…anyway, what was he thinking about? Oh, yes. He was proud of his ward's restraint. "Yes, good lad. Now, avail yourself of your shellfish fork – that would be this one here – and I shall demonstrate how to properly."

At the first mention of this particular piece of silverware, Kog had spotted it out of his row of forks and devoured it. The other forks clinked to the ground; Cho considered it progress that he'd only eaten one bit of silverware this time.

"One step at a time," he reminded himself, helping himself to a mussel the proper way. "One…step…at a time."


	2. Chapter 2

Cho'Gath lunged, but he knew that he was finished. His foe had toyed with him, forcing him to waste his energy, and now it was over; the ball bounced its second bounce, and with a futile dive and a fierce grunt, Cho'Gath lost the point, the game, and the match. Not that this surprised him: Rammus was a true squash master, and Cho expected to lose whenever they played together. Cho mainly hoped that he might learn something and that he wouldn't completely disgrace himself; as usual, though, he looked back at the past half hour and wondered what the hell had just happened.

"Good…show, then…old…boy," Cho said, still winded. Rammus hadn't even broken a sweat; he just stood smiling at the front of the court in a little white squash outfit, complete with headband and little sneakers. As the reader may easily surmise, he looked adorable.

"Uh huh," he muttered. They shook hands, and Rammus stayed up to await his next challenger while Cho'Gath lumbered back to the benches to collapse in exhaustion.

He took a swig of chicken blood from his water bottle and sighed. "Hoo…bit winded," he said.

"Yes, Mundo tired too," Mundo said. "Watching person suck at squash really take it out of Mundo."

Cho chuckled nervously at this. He never knew whether Mundo was joking with him or honestly insulting him. "Yes, it must be, uh…hard for you."

Mundo responded to this by sticking his tongue out and making a raspberry noise; he did this from time to time, and Cho never really knew how to take this, either. "Mundo frustrated! Mundo take frustrations out on court!" He rasped another raspberry, this one particularly wet, and he charged into the match. He brought forth a furious serve, terrible to behold, but Cho found he could not focus on the game.

"You can usually avoid embarrassing yourself out there," Vlad said, also dressed in a fashionable red work-out ensemble. "You didn't seem to be particularly 'in it,' though. Something on your mind?"

Cho'Gath sighed. "I'm that transparent, am I? Yes, yes, it's my protégé. Things…aren't working out very well."

"Mm," Vlad said. He smiled. "He didn't eat another butler, did he?"

"No, no, nothing so bad," Cho assured. "I mean, he did eat Milo's hands, but not a WHOLE butler."

"Mm," Vlad said again. They paused for a moment in contemplation of poor, tasty Milo, and if both of them licked their lips, well, who could blame them? "I'm sorry, what were we talking about?"

Cho'Gath, who had been wondering whether braising or roasting would bring out Milo's flavors better, found his way back to the conversation. "As I was saying, my young ward has had just terrible trouble adjusting. He has shown no appreciation for the finer things – why, everything is just violence and food to him! I try to teach him chess, and he vomits on the chess set! I try to recite Dalarhune's poetry for him, and he vomits on the collection! I try to teach the harpsichord and…and…" Cho'Gath put his head in his talons and bawled; his horrible black tears dribbled down his face, and every time one hit the ground, a child's favorite toy broke somewhere in the world.

Vlad patted Cho on his back. "He vomits on the harpsichord?"

"He…He…" But no, Cho wasn't ready yet; he bawled a little more (and little Davy Sumpson, far off in Piltover, watched helplessly as his beloved wooden soldiers burst into flames for no apparent reason). "He…vomits on the harpsichord, yes. It's just that…it's not that he can't learn, though it feels that way some days. It seems more that he doesn't even want to learn!"

"Pah!" Mundo shouted. He had lost the last point, and he now held the ball out angrily at Cho. "You know you problem, big crawly voidy thing? You crying about results, but you no think INCENTIVES!"

Rammus turned to Cho and Vlad, said "Yeah," and turned back to the game. Mundo served, and the volley resumed.

Cho sniffed and wiped his face (and little Tina of Ionia could do nothing for her rag doll, Bess, who inexplicably turned into sand). "No thought of incentives? Why, that's absurd! I make sure to congratulate him when he's done something well, and I…why, I even created a nice little chart that I can put gold stars on when he's shown some progress. I tell you, though, he's just not…"

"Aaah! Congrastinations not fill tummy!" Mundo shouted over his shoulder mid-volley. "Gold stars no got cash value!" Mundo was so incensed by Cho'Gath's cheap, amateur idea of incentives that his body erupted into flames. This did not impact the game.

"He does have a point there," Vlad said. "What reason have you given him to become civilized? It's nice for you and me, but art, etiquette, and fancy dress are all we know."

"Yeah?" Rammus asked; Mundo had lost the first game, and Rammus held the ball to serve.

"Well…that and slaughter," Vlad admitted.

Rammus nodded, and the game resumed.

Cho'Gath thought about this for the first time, and he reigned himself in, wiping away his last tears (and little Annie, playing quietly in her room in the League, watched as her bear Tibbers ripped at his seams and started leaking maggots. Of course, weird crap was always happening with Tibbers, so Annie barely noticed). How could he have missed something so simple? He himself had just decided one day he looked rather fetching in a monocle and, well, the rest happened from there; he'd always considered it a foregone conclusion that the low class wanted to be high class.

"Great Scott, I've been going about this all wrong! I need to be making him crave the life of a gentleman, not turning it into a chore!"

"Now you're talking!" Vlad assured. "And people always crave those pleasures that are forbidden to them. Try to think of something in high society that would appeal to him, dangle it where he can see it, and refuse to let him take part in it."

Cho tried to think of what gentlemanly pursuit he enjoyed most. "I suppose I could...discuss opera in front of him at length, until he'll simply burst if I don't let him go to one."

Mundo missed a point, and turned to Cho, his skin smoldering with rage. "Opera is the suck! That best you can do?"

"Now, now, Mundo...though I don't know, old boy. Opera probably isn't the best place to start," Vlad said. "I've got it! What about the Crownguard party?"

"Now that's an idea!" Cho said. Lady Luxanna Crownguard was having her debut ball in a month; everyone who was anyone would be there, plus guest."A party! Yes, a party is exactly what we need! What young voidspawn could resist all those lights and sounds, all those hors d'oeurves! It's a perfect idea!"

Mundo snorted; the game had paused for discussion of this perfect idea. "Perfect if you want embarass yourself!" Rammus snickered; he exchanged knowing glances with Mundo and Vlad.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, old boy," Vlad said. "You know everyone's going to be there. Why, there's sure to be Sir Garen Crownguard, and Lady Katarina duCouteau, and..." A short pause interrupted as the group shared a collective shudder.

"They so weird." Mundo muttered.

"Yeah," Rammus said.

"Anyway, everyone will be there - royalty, nobles, and weird couples included. It's a wonderful incentive, certainly, but a terrific risk - if you can't bring your boy in line by the party, he's sure to get you laughed out of Valoran society until...well, at least next fall!"  
Cho'Gath gasped. Summer was the big Valoran party season, and if he had to bow out, he would just die.

"Well then," Cho announced. "It seems the game is on."


	3. Chapter 3

To be fair to Kog'Maw, he honestly did want to please his mentor. He just couldn't get his mind around the library. Cho'Gath seemed to love the musty old room, sometimes spending hours in silence amidst its shelves, and Kog couldn't see why. Heaven knows he'd tried, sampling a little here and there when the elder voidspawn wasn't around, but this only complicated the mystery – what would anyone want to do with snacks so dry and dusty? The texture was not so terrible, chewy and tough on the outside with hundreds of leafy layers in the middle. As for flavor, at best there was a vague smokiness in the older volumes or an acrid tang in the newest, but nothing special, nothing that would explain Cho's fascination with the room.

But Kog was determined to please Cho'Gath, and despite Cho's fears, the youngster had indeed been learning during his stay at Gath Manor. He had learned, for instance, that unappealing food can sometimes be made tasty with one of this world's more dazzling luxuries, a treasure unheard of in the Void, and it was this that Kog'Maw decided would unlock the secrets of the library:

Sauce. He didn't like the books because he hadn't found the right sauce for them. Once he'd thought it, it seemed so obvious.

So, while Cho'Gath was away at some stuffy gathering where no one would be eating and everyone would be standing around, all like "Oh, hum, yes" or whatever (Kog's social education was lagging a bit), Kog decided to surprise his mentor. By the time Cho came home, Kog meant to have an appreciation for fine literature.

He went to the kitchens first. The staff at Gath Manor had learned to give Kog'Maw a wide berth when possible and to give him whatever he wanted the rest of the time. The kitchens were nearly empty when Kog waddled in, only a human pot washer scrubbing away at the sink and a wizened old yordle, standing on a stepladder and fussing over a great simmering cauldron. The pot washer was new, and according to standard hazing procedure for new staff, no one had told him that they worked for void monsters. So when Kog scrabbled onto a countertop and started screeching "Sauce! Sauce!" with unearthly need, the poor man lost control of every part of himself that it is funny to lose control over: his legs became overcooked noodles as he stumbled back; his eyes gushed tears in spirited but futile self-defense; and the commerce of his bowels, usually strictly regulated, turned suddenly, disastrously _laissez-faire._

"Sauce!" Kog demanded, unimpressed as the pot washer completed his retreat, cowering behind the elderly yordle as best as a six-foot man can possibly hide behind a two-foot halfling. The yordle hadn't even turned to acknowledge Kog yet. As his coworker's sanity frayed into ribbons behind him, the cook slowly, deliberately withdrew his wooden spoon from the pot and slowly, deliberately tasted it.

"Mm," said the yordle after careful deliberation. "Yes, sauce. At once." Slowly, deliberately, the yordle descended his step ladder, and after a number of other actions that his arthritis made slow and deliberate, he'd retrieved a rope, tied it to the handle of the cauldron, and handed the other end to the young master. Kog grabbed the rope excitedly and dragged the cauldron out of the kitchen with him while the old yordle retrieved some brandy for the potwasher.

The cauldron contained twenty gallons of a spicy red concoction from Shurima that Kog had taken a particular liking to, and it was not unusual for him to go through this amount in a day. It took him twenty minutes to drag the load where he was going, in which time random sloshing and reckless snack breaks had depleted his store and ruined several expensive rugs. Still, when he arrived at the heavy oak doors of the library, he had far more sauce left than you or I would know what to do with.

The great experiment was afoot.

Cho'Gath got home a few hours later. Milo was pacing frantically at the front door, waiting desperately to warn the master of the situation _vis-à-vis _his beloved library, but he of course tended to the master's hat and coat first. Cho might have noticed that the handless butler was a little distraught, but he had been scheming for the whole carriage ride home, and he was chuckling to himself now about how he would tempt his young ward into high society. This would be grand fun, such very grand f-

A cold chill ran up Cho's invertebrate back. Kog'Maw was currently dipping a rare first folio of Wimbliwam's _Wudgy-Pudgy Cycle_, widely considered the finest example of classical yordle tragedy. The smell of the red sauce filled Kog with delight, while the master of the house, still at the front door and ignorant of Kog's doings, could not understand where this sudden, inexplicable dread was coming from.

"Milo, I'll be meeting my charge in the parlor shortly," he told the butler.

"Of course, sir, I shall retrieve him immediately," Milo said, hoping to warn the master at this point of his imperiled books. "Though if I may, sir, you may wish to…"

At this moment, Kog was ripping out the first few pages of _Wudgy-Pudgy in the Candy Forest_, which had moved Cho'Gath to weeping openly when he'd first seen it. Cho shuddered inexplicably again as the young void spawn started swallowing the well-sauced pages in great handfuls. "Hm. And I think I should like a warm brandy, too. The night vapors are getting to me, I fear," Cho said.

"Of course, sir. Uh, about your charge, sir…" Milo said, but he was interrupted again as the master's hat and coat fell in a heap to the floor. Milo was none to complain about his injuries, heavens no, but navigating a coat hanger _sans_ hands is a tricky proposition.

"Not to worry, Milo, I've been talking it over with the boys, and I think I've got just the thing to turn him around." Wudgy-Pudgy's act IV soliloquy hit Kog'Maw's digestive juices just then, and Cho cried out involuntarily. "Heavens. Do see about that brandy, would you, Milo? I might have a touch of the grip coming on."

Milo, fumbling no less with his words than with his stumpy arms, could say nothing to delay Cho as he repaired to the parlor.

The plan was simple: he just needed to convince Kog that he'd just come back from a huge party, that huge parties were fabulous things that Kog would want to go to, and that he'd only be allowed to go if he learned some proper etiquette. But when Kog'Maw finally waddled into the parlor twenty minutes later, Cho nearly despaired.

The young voidspawn was filthy. None of the stains exactly indicated that he'd been in the library, but he trailed red, saucy footprints on the floor as he padded in and, before Cho could stop him, left a big saucy smear on the back of the armchair that he flopped into. Cho could not fathom how condiments had gotten on the voidling's back, but he was not exactly surprised.

They sat in silence for a moment, both of them disappointed and frustrated, feeling as though their efforts had been pointless. Cho had poured weeks into this, and the little brute still couldn't even be bothered to wash up after apparently rolling around in his food; while Kog had spent the whole afternoon eating books and, still thinking they tasted yucky, didn't understand their appeal any more than he had before.

"Well," Cho'Gath finally said. He paused for effect, sipping his brandy. "Look at you. You haven't listened to a damned thing I've told you – I suppose you think you've got everything figured out pretty well already, so why should I even bother?"

Kog gurgled in confusion. He eventually responded, thinking they were talking about eating books, "No. Try to understand, but…no understand."

Cho nearly spilled his brandy. He'd been expecting silence or a glob of burning spit, but Kog actually sounded like he wanted to get it. Perhaps Kog had true motivation, after all. Perhaps…perhaps there was still hope…

He regained his composure, shaking off his uncertainty and looking his protégé in the eye, which was no mean feat when one's protégé has a multitude of eyes all over his head.

"This is where we find ourselves, then – Lady Luxana Crownguard is coming out one month hence."

Kog chuckled like my foolish readers, unaware as my stupid readers no doubt are that "coming out" refers in this case to a lady's debut as a grown, eligible woman, from which we derive the more familiar term "debutante," and not to her outing herself as a homosexual. He didn't have any access to literature growing up, at least, but what the hell is your excuse? No, no! Don't bother trying to explain yourself! I've wasted enough time already.

Cho sighed at Kog and my truly idiotic readers. "You'll be making your first formal appearance in high society then, too. You'll like it – there's food and drink and all sorts of amusements, but you have to know how to conduct yourself. If you don't have a firm grip on etiquette by then, you'll get us both laughed out of civilized company for the foreseeable future – do you understand?"

Kog considered this. There was food and drink, but he'd have to learn some things or he wouldn't be able to go. He nodded.

"Yes. Well, then, it shall be a grueling month for us both, then – I doubt I shall have time to set foot even once in my beloved library, but no matter," Cho conveniently said. "By my troth, my boy, one month hence you shall be a true gentleman!"


	4. Chapter 4

Say what you will about war and peace – perhaps conflict truly is the great motivator, perhaps civilization would stagnate in an entirely gentle world – but this is a fact: people throw better parties in peacetime.

Timmer Timmerson had been a servant for the Lightshield family all his life, overseeing any major social function that the Lightshields were hosting. He was an old and respected figure in Demacian high society, however common, and he wore a particularly nice red suit that the king had gifted to him. When the Rune Wars shook the very air and cracked the very sky, Timmer liked to think he'd cemented several alliances for Demacia with his especially tasteful flower arrangements. When the Summoners decreed that magical war should no longer be waged, and King Jarvan III told the nobles of Demacia of the new League, Timmer's generous selection of wine and snacks at the summit had helped preserve unity. Only now, though, in the days of the League of Legends, did Timmer feel he had truly come into his own; ever since the end of the wars, it had grown harder and harder to host the increasingly odd guests that you were suddenly obliged to invite.

As Timmer walked into the White Terrace of Demacia, he smiled to himself. Lady Luxanna's ball would be the event of the year in Valoran society, and nervous as he was, he was confident that there were few in the world with the experience and cosmopolitan sensibility to host such an eclectic bunch. The royal family was paying for everything as a show of their favor for the Crownguards, and Timmer had accordingly spared no expense. The food represented tastes from every corner of Runeterra, the wine cellars had been bolstered with a variety of Noxian and Bandle vintages, and the musicians included a Demacian string quartet, a number of wizened Freljord bards, and a group specializing in a variety of guitar concerto known in Piltover as "Death Metal." There would also be a dancing bear, because in accordance with Demacian law, screw you if you don't like dancing bears.

It hadn't been easy, but Timmer Timmerson had nearly pulled it off. He strolled through the White Terrace, looking for any irregularities. There were none.

"Perfect," Timmerson said to himself, nearly tearing up at the sight of the perfect bunting, the pristine tiled ground, the vomit buckets hidden just of sight with utmost taste. "Just…perfect. Demacia."

To Demacians, the word "Demacia" can have a lot of different meanings in context. It's an "aloha" kind of thing. Timmerson was using it as an expression of sentimentality, though it is also common to use it for "hello," "yes," "beware," or "I have indigestion."

"Is that you, sir?" asked a voice from the shrubs. Timmerson looked and saw Hendricks the shrubber, dressed in white cap and white overalls, stand up from behind one, sheers in hand.

"Ah, Hendricks. Demacia," Timmerson greeted. "I don't mean to blow my own horn, but this might just be the finest party ever in the history of everything, don't you agree?"

"Demacia," Hendricks said. "It was a good decision having it outside like this. All that power, all those extra-big champions – just wouldn't have been healthy for any hall I know of, no sir."

"Demacia," Timmerson said, readily accepting the little compliment.

"But Demacia, sir – I just hope the little one doesn't mess it all up," Hendricks said.

Timmerson cocked an eyebrow. "Little one?"

"You haven't heard, sir? Mister Gath is bringing his young ward, Mister, um…Gaw?"

"Oh dear…" Timmerson felt cold sweat beading on his forehead. He took out a handkerchief and dabbed himself, stumbling about for a chair or a post. He needed to lean on something. "Maw. Mister Kog'Maw. I…oh, dear."

Word had spread of Cho'Gath's mission. Any caller at Gath Manor left with some horror story, some harrowing tale in which large quantities of inedible goods were usually consumed or some item of great personal value vomited on. And now the little terror was coming here?

"Gods preserve us, Hendricks, I…" Suddenly his dinner wasn't agreeing with him. His stomach roiled, and he felt a great surge of heartburn. "Oh, dear. Demacia."

But what could he do? Timmerson was merely a party planner of low birth, however successful, and it was not his place to question the guest list. He instead tried to lose himself in his work as he oversaw the last few preparations. Hors d'oeuvres were readied on platters; the dancing bear was squeezed into his unitard; and eight stout men brought forth a mighty oaken table, engraved with the scenes of Demacian glory through the ages, on which cups and balls were laid out for the playing of Shurima. Named for no clear reason after the desert, Shurima is a game in which two teams try to throw tiny balls into cups filled with mead arranged on the other side of the table, at which point the owner of said cup is obligated to drink its contents. Denizens of Valoran often confuse it with the traditional Piltover sport of Mead Pong, but where Shurima involves throwing the balls, Mead Pong is played with paddles.

"And if you don't know what I'm referring to here, then make sure you keep those grades up. College is great," Timmer Timmerson said. He clapped a hand on his mouth. On top of everything, he had forgotten to take his antipsychotics that morning, and he had no idea why he'd said that.

Despairing, groaning, and more than a little crazy, Timmerson retired to his quarters for a quick nap or a stiff drink, whichever came quicker.

Cho'Gath checked his pocket watch. It was thirty-two seconds past 7:48, and while he did not do this math himself, this meant he'd last checked it forty seconds ago. They were close to the White Terrace now, and Cho had no good reason to be fussing over the time. The party had officially begun at 7:00, but as Cho had correctly advised Kog, it was best to wait a little while. Only Veigar the Black ever went to parties right on time, and unless you wanted to be stuck hearing Veigar the Black talk about himself for half an hour, you aimed to get there at least a half hour late.

Their arrival time would be perfect. That wasn't what worried Cho. Everything seemed to be going perfectly, in fact. Kog had cleaned up remarkably well. His tailor had sewn the voidspawn a fine, fitted tuxedo, black with green cummerbund and scarlet buttons. It would have looked garish and clashing on a human of standard coloring, but Cho had decided that if Kog's lolling tongue and caustic spittle could not be wholly tamed, at least they could be complemented. Kog's antennae were slicked back smoothly and tied off with a green bow into a short ponytail. His mouth – and this was the greatest sign of progress – was closed.

Everything was perfect. They had worked so hard for so long to reach this level of success, but more than anything this made Cho aware of the razor's edge that everything rested on now. Their work had not brought them further from disaster so much as it had made the possible disaster that much more terrible.

But he couldn't turn back now. He'd worked for months to reform Kog, placed his reputation on the line, and bet Rammus five dollars that this would all work out.

He refused to give up faith in his charge now.

He refused to be known as a coward and a quitter.

He refused to give Rammus five dollars.

Just as Cho was beginning to build up his nerve again, the carriage slowed. Cho's driver Jennings called out, "Here we are, then, sir."

"Oh, dear," Cho said, wringing his talons. Jennings opened the carriage door for them, placing a step stool underneath it because Kog was very short, and handing his employer a flask because life is very hard.

Cho took the flask eagerly, raising it in respect and taking a swig. Like Jennings himself, the brandy was not very fine, but it did its job well. "Cheers, Jennings," he said, handing the flask back and descending the carriage.

"Please," Kog said in gratitude, nodding to Jennings. Cho burried his head in one claw, nearly saying "No, 'thank you,' not 'please'! It's 'THANK YOU'! 'PLEASE' and 'THANK YOU' are not the same thing! How can you not understand that! We spent a whole afternoon, a WHOLE AFTERNOON, going over that! AAH! AAAAAAAAH!" and then killing himself, but he suppressed this urge and merely sighed. However much or little Kog had learned, Cho had learned a lot about restraint.

And then there they were. Jennings drove off, and Cho was alone with his young ward at the entrance to the biggest party of the year. No way out but through. Cho adjusted his tie, and Kog fidgeted. Before them, past a few hedges and a great marble arch, the White Terrace of Demacia awaited.

As they approached the arch, Cho's spirits lifted a bit. Lightshield Palace sat ahead in the distance, a bulwark of pristine white stone with golden banners streaming from every wall and tower. The castle sat on the highest hill of the capital city, and trailing out behind it, flowing out of the palace like the white train of a wedding dress, was a series of decks and balconies built into the hillside, ten in all, each jutting out a little further from the hillside as if a giant had built a very pretty staircase up to the castle. And though the terrace was made of the same glistening limestone as the palace, it overflowed with banners, flowers, and gaily bedecked guests of every color. It was easy for Cho to see why the White Terrace won so many awards.

If Kog cared about this beauty or the guests or the music drifting down from the Terrace, he did not show it. If he cared about the servants mulling about with trays of champagne glasses or Cho stopping one of these to say "Yes, give me one of those, no, two, just – just, here, let me have the tray," he did not care. What he cared about were the servants mulling about with trays of skymoose tartare and rune oysters and little sausages with toothpicks.

Cho grabbed the voidling firmly by the back of his neck. He thrust a champagne class at him with a free talon, and they locked eyes.

"Take that," Cho said. Kog looked at his mentor for some visual hint of how, exactly, he was supposed to take the glass. Much of this etiquette business remained a blur for Kog, but to his reckoning, politeness was about doing exactly the opposite of whatever your first impulse was. So…well, this one looked straightforward. Kog grabbed the glass of bubbly liquid and threw it in his mouth. Now, he was supposed to savor it, he'd gathered, and talk about specific things he liked about it, as Cho'Gath had taught him.

"Hmm," Kog said, spitting flecks of glass and drops of champagne out as he spoke. "Crunch. Bubbly. Um. Good."

"Quite," Cho said, disappointed. His mistake entirely, he realized. He should have been clearer. He gave Kog another glass. "Here, though. You're only supposed to drink the liquid; it is not polite to…"

Enlightened, Kog drained the contents of the second glass. He smiled up at Cho, tail wagging, eager for approval.

Cho sighed again. "Do you know what, my boy? That will do." He patted Kog's head, then, looking ahead at the party with terrified eyes, drained his own glass.

"All right, my boy," he said with a gulp. "Let's get to it."


	5. Chapter 5

Staring at herself in the mirror in her private rooms, Luxanna Crownguard was the very image of beauty. Her curly hair was mostly done up in a bun, save for two locks which were allowed to dangle in front of her face. She wore an elegant silver tiara with inlaid emeralds, the same green as her eyes, and her billowing white dress had dozens of tiny prisms woven into the fabric. With a tiny effort, she could play with the light around her and make rainbows dance over the dress. She was a lovely young woman, dressed in the finest and most regal fashions, and she was sure to break the hearts of many young bachelors of Valoran. Her maids, Delia and Bethsheba, stood on either side of her and beamed with pride at their lovely mistress.

But such loveliness concealed a terrible secret.

Her bedroom door opened with a crash as Lux's mother, Brickianna Crownguard, charged in. She was three hundred pounds of meat and muscle in a billowing indigo dress. Lady Brick's eyes, tiny little eyes with tremendous fury and concentration, gave each of Lux's maids one withering glance. Delia snapped to attention, turning to face her lady's mother fully, while Bethsheba, unprepared for the very focused anger of the Crownguard matriarch's gaze, suffered a massive cardiac event and died instantly.

"Luxanna!" Lady Brick shouted.

Lux swallowed, but steeled herself and turned to face her mother. "Yes, mother?"

Lady Brick stamped into the room. She looked Delia up and down. "Where has my daughter hidden it?"

Delia averted her eyes from the matriarch, unable to bear eye contact. "I…I do not know what you…"

Lady Brick breathed in and out slowly. They were deep breaths, menacing breaths, breaths that said "I'm going to kill you." Lady Brick also blinked her eyes in a way that reminded everyone that no one would ever question her for killing a servant. Her gall bladder also produced bile in exactly such a way as to communicate that Delia had really ought to just come clean.

"Delia," Lux urged, desperately but in vain.

"I'm sorry, my lady…" Delia said. "It's…it's in a hidden pocket near her waist."

"Delia!" Lux cried, but too late. Her mother was on her already, and with surprising deftness, Lady Brick's huge meaty hands found the compartment in Lux's dress. Before Lux could raise a hand in protest, her mother had pulled out her secret treasure: a steak and cheese sandwich with peppers and onions, still hot and wrapped in wax paper.

"Daughter…" Lady Brick whispered in disappointment.

"Mother, I…I'm sorry."

"What would happen if people knew, Lux? Can you imagine the shame, the infamy that you would bring down on this house if it were made known that our daughter was a…was a…"

Lux's face twisted in shame and anger. "Go ahead, say it! Say what I am, mother! Or are you that disgusted?"

Lady Brick stared in empty despair at the steak and cheese. Delia ran weeping from the room.

"You're…"

"I'm a SNACKER, mother!" Lux screamed, tears in her eyes. "The gods may damn me for it, but I AM A SNACKER! Look!" She opened another compartment, hidden in the billows of her skirts, and pulled out several cookies and a cheese croissant. "Look at your lovely daughter, mother!" She twisted these words with malice as she threw these snacks at her mother and reached into another hidden pocket, pulling out a whole apple pie with streusel topping. She threw this to the floor. "Look at me!"

"Oh, Lux…"

"This is what you came to see, isn't it? Then see it now!" Lux cried, opening her purse to reveal about a quarter pound of really good raw ground beef, grass-fed heritage stuff from a top-quality rancher, hardcore snacking indeed.

She kept digging into her pockets and throwing her hidden snacks to the floor, a bag of chocolate bonbons here, a life brook trout there, until her rage and grief overcame her and she fell to her knees, sobbing. And as Lady Brick came over to console her daughter…Lux began snacking.

The Crownguards were not all smiles and sunshine. They were a very old family, and while they had always prided themselves on their virtue and loyalty, Lux's ancestors had seen many of the worst periods of the Rune Wars, and war, particularly all-out magical war, has a tendency to wear on virtue and loyalty. Five hundred years ago, the family was led by the Baron Felix Crownguard, known variously as Felix the Fat, Fat-Ass Felix, and Baron Fatty Fatty Pieface. His appetite for snacks was matched only by his aptitude for the dark arts, and he made ample use of the latter to satisfy the former. Under the guise of defending Demacian glory, Baron Felix provoked many wars and performed many less-than-honorable deeds to fill his coffers and, thus, his pantries. While his sins were many and various, by all accounts his greatest atrocity was his last, when he assembled a cabal of his most loyal and fearsome rune-priests to turn the neighboring city-state of Gustacia, along with all its lands, structures, and inhabitants, into decadent chocolate fudge. He and his sorcerers feasted, thinking they had exterminated the Gustacians to the last man, and so they allowed themselves to glut themselves completely on fudge and to fall into a deep, victorious fudge stupor. This, of course, is the subject of Dalarhune's Fatty Fatty Pieface at Gustacia, which further details the publically known version of what followed: Felix was struck by a powerful curse, fueled by the dying vengeance of an entire city-state, and he proceeded to devour each of the rune-priests who'd been involved, then all of his soldiers, then all of his riches, and finally himself.

The Crownguards had long since distanced themselves from their ancestor, and no one held the modern Crownguards responsible for his wrongdoings; that had been the Rune Wars, after all, and most noble houses had some ancestor or another who'd done insane, genocidal things back then. It had been the nature of the time, as it was the nature of the time now to forgive and forget the sins of the barbaric past.

What wasn't well known, though, was that Felix hadn't just been hit with a curse – he'd gotten hit with a bloodline curse, right in the face, and those take an awful long time to forgive and forget. It had diluted over time somewhat, and it sometimes skipped a generation or two, but Lux had gotten it bad. She had the hunger of a Void beast, insatiable and ravenous, and while she had received enough training and undergone enough soothing rituals that she would probably not be in any physical danger, there were other concerns. For instance, as she prepared to step into society as a grown woman, might it be a little put-offish that Lux might just up and eat a whole bag of flour in one sitting, or wake up in the middle of the night and order as many as five omelets before going back to sleep?

She was a snacker. This was a new age and all sorts of things were becoming acceptable, but some things were still uncouth and unattractive. And as Lux looked down at her gown, once so beautiful, now covered in grease, hot sauce, and ground beef, she supposed she knew what side of that line she stood on now. A snacker. Oh, gods. Where, oh where, would they ever find a bachelor who could accept that?

Lux burped, wiping her tears away with one greasy hand. She nodded. "All right," she said to her mother. "All right. Get the maids back. Let's…I'm ready to go out."


End file.
